


A Little Time to Choose

by HotCrossPigeon



Series: Stories to brighten up your day [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: All the booze, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale grows a beard, Aziraphale’s shapely calves, Bearded Aziraphale (Good Omens), Beards (Facial Hair), Bees, Bickering, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley’s questionable fashion choices, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Humour, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Listen they’re absolutely besotted with one another, M/M, Nonsense, Old Married Couple, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Teasing, drunken conversations, meandering dialogue, soft, thruppenny bits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotCrossPigeon/pseuds/HotCrossPigeon
Summary: After the apocalypse, Aziraphale decides to experiment with some facial hair.Crowley is completely done for.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Stories to brighten up your day [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771381
Comments: 66
Kudos: 366





	A Little Time to Choose

**Author's Note:**

> Been sad lately. I just needed a little gentleness. Hope it makes you smile.

“I was thinking of sporting some facial hair,” said Aziraphale, apropos of nothing. Well, not _nothing_ , apropos of a great deal of wine chased by a few snifters of brandy.

Crowley sat up in the chair he’d been sprawled in, trying, and failing, to sober up a bit. He didn’t know if he’d heard correctly through sounds of booze sloshing about in his ears. “Wassat, angel?”

“I said, perhaps I might indulge in a little hair. On my face, I mean, or well more specifically, around the chin area.”

Crowley blinked a bit, then narrowed his eyes at the sozzled angel, doing his best to imagine a long, grey, wizard beard where there was naught but a pink chin. The kind of beard you could fling over your shoulder, or tuck into your belt. He made a face. “Wot, really?”

“Well,” Aziraphale mused, lifting a glass of burgundy to his lips, “Heaven always frowned upon that sort of thing. _A Principality’s corporation should be clean shaven_ ,” he echoed, “ _and well-groomed at all times._ I think I might like to, oh I don’t know, go a bit _wild,_ ” he smiled a mite mischievously, “well, what do you think my dear?”

Crowley blinked. “Me? I’m all for it. Wait. _Wait_ \- hang on a tic - you’re not thinking of growing one of those awful _magician_ ones are you?”

He had foreboding visions of the angel reenacting his time as _The Amazing Mr Fell,_ complete with badly drawn moustache, except this time it was _real_ and couldn’t be scrubbed off with a damp handkerchief.

Aziraphale’s little finger rose upwards as he hid his smile behind the rim of his glass. “My dear, dear Crowley, whatever else?”

“Then no. No. _Hell_ no. I’m not endorsing that. You’ll be insufferable! Rabbits everywhere, doves everywhere, a national shortage of thruppenny bits.”

Aziraphale let out a wistful sigh, “Come now, you know full well that thruppenny bits went out of circulation a long time ago.”

“Pfft, that wouldn’t stop you. You’d pinch ‘em from a museum or something.”

This had the desired effect of Aziraphale sitting up in his chair in indignation, mouth a perfectly scandalised ‘o’.

“I _beg_ your pardon? I’ll have you know that I’ve never stolen a single thing in my life! How _dare_ you insinuate -”

“Bollocks!” cried Crowley, with no little delight, waggling his wine glass aloft triumphantly. “Remember that one time in Rome with the honey?”

Aziraphale tutted, settling back a little with a roll of his eyes. “That wasn’t stealing,” he insisted, even though it definitely was, “it was _liberating_.”

Crowley had snagged the memory by its toe and was studying it from all angles. Needless to say, he begged to differ. “Liberating? Liberating! Ha. Is that what you call stuffing a great big bloody beehive up your - ”

  
  
“Crowley, _please_ \- must you be so crude? I did not _shove_ it anywhere, thank you. I delicately handled it with the respect it deserved -”

“While legging it away from that farmer, oh yeah, very delicate that. Very decorous.”

“Oh, that beastly man. He was an absolute _menace_ and he refused to listen to reason - do you know, he was going to smoke the poor things out? Can you even imagine? He was going to suffocate the little honey makers! Absolutely ghastly chap. Anyway, I’ll have you know it was a very daring rescue, actually, and furthermore - Crowley? Oh, stop - stop _snickering._ ”

“- all them _bees_ \- all up in your _britches_ -!” the demon reminisced fondly, through a series of snorts.

Aziraphale bristled. “I hardly put them up there, they followed me.” A silly smile dimpled his cheeks and softened his eyes, “the dear little creatures - do you know, I think they thought I was a flower? They kept zipping up into the air and - and nuzzling me on the nose. Their waggle dance was most enchanting.”

“Psh. They didn’t think you were a flower, angel - they followed you because you _stole their bloody hive.”_

“I did _no such thing_ \- you’ve taken it completely out of context, as usual, you wretched old serpent - ”

“Oh yeah, right, yeah, my mistake, you were a regular Robin Hood.”

Aziraphale blinked heavily, the small pleased expression had now taken up residence on his face and had planted daisies.

All right, it was entirely possible that a bee could have mistaken him for a flower. He was just that ridiculous.

“...Goodness,” the angel mused, “do you really think so? That’s lovely.”

Crowley grimaced. “Oi, that wasn’t a compliment. He was a right prat, prancing around the place in tights.”

“Mmm,” said Aziraphale, picking and choosing what he wanted to hear, as bloody par for the course. “I do so _miss_ wearing hose. Trousers are very stylish, don’t get me wrong, and I do appreciate a good swish about the lower leg - but there was something so _comfortable_ about hose. Remarkably form-fitting, I always found.”

Crowley was suddenly inundated with memories of the angel’s shapely calves, and scrambled for something to say. “Um. Right.”

Shapely calves with a delicate ankle.

“What were...”

Not to mention the _thighs_. Oh, don’t go there.

Crowley swallowed, heavily. “What were we, er.”

“Hmm?” murmured the angel, crossing one foot over the other in a very distracting way.

Calves. No, no. Not calves. Stealing! That was it. Was that it? Stealing bees. Stealing coins. That was the thing, the _coins_.

Crowley reigned himself in, steering the conversation back on track. “Have you got a collection...?”

“Hmm?” said Aziraphale again, uncomprehendingly. He looked exceptionally comfortable and disarmingly rosy about the cheeks and chin. His eyes had lost their focus a long while ago, and they had adopted a soft periwinkle grey colour in the dim light of the back room.

Crowley steadfastly clung to the topic he’d recovered, resisting the urge to go over there to that pleasantly pink angel, and plant his face in Aziraphale’s warm lap. “A _collection_. A collection of, fssskkk. You know. The things. Outdated coinage! Thruppenny bits, I mean. Wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Well, yes, of course. I do indeed have a collection of bygone currency, Crowley - but that’s completely _beside the point._ ”

Crowley blinked blearily, because to be perfectly honest, he’d forgotten why he asked. The conversation had run away from him and hidden in one of those swaying bookcases - over there, those three swaying bookcases all occupying the same space. Something weird about that, best stop looking at them, hopefully they’d sort themselves out.

“... er,” he managed to say, mouth curling up in amusement, “what _was_ the point?”

“The point?” asked Aziraphale, who also seemed to be having trouble, if the slow listing to the left was anything to go by. “Oh, buggered if I know,” he said, taking a long drink of his wine, and allowing himself to slouch further into the sofa cushions with a little hum of contentment.

Crowley watched him with a fondness, that of course, he hid very well behind his sunglasses. He snapped his fingers, remembering. “That’sss it.”

“Hmm?”

“It was you - you and that hideous magician goatee-moustache combo, that you’re gonna grow just to spite me.”

“Oh!” said Aziraphale with obvious jubilation. “Oh, _yes_. How wonderful.”

Crowley let out a groan, “Come on. Don’t make me go round London with you looking like that. I’ve got a reputation, you know.”

“My dear boy, after what you put me through in the eighties, I’d say it would be a just and fair comeuppance.”

“Oi. Don’t - you said you wouldn’t bring up the -”

“What? The double denim? The perm? The honest to goodness _mullet?!_ Oh, or good gracious, do you remember those hideous neon leg warmers?”

Oh, Christ, the leg warmers. The less said about those bloody things, the better. He’d tried to find black ones to no avail. Aziraphale had actually tried to be supportive at the time, saying things like _‘oh yes, they look comfy, don’t they?’_ and _‘the brightness certainly brings out your complexion’._ Which, of course, made it even worse now, because with the benefit of hindsight Crowley realised he’d looked like an absolute twonk.

Aziraphale, who seldom understood fashion trends, had been trying to be _kind._

_What a bastard._

The angel was clutching his hands together in front of his chest, looking caught somewhere between horror and hilarity. “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

“What.”

“I've just remembered. Crowley. _Crowley_ , I’ve just remembered.”

“What?”

The angel gave him a meaningful look.

“ _What?_ Just spit it out.“

Aziraphale gestured up and down his own body, eyebrows raising in anticipation, looking fit to burst.

Crowley blanched. “No nonono. Don’t say it. Don’t you dare. You promised.”

Aziraphale’s lip trembled, his eyes were wide with mirth. He actually _whispered_ it, as if saying the words any louder would bring the bloody thing back to life after Crowley had liberally doused it in petrol and set it on fire. “... the _leotard_.”  
  
  


They looked at each other for an extended moment, and then Aziraphale dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Crowley threw his hands up, trying to act suitably annoyed - but Aziraphale’s laughter was infectious and the demon found himself viciously fighting off a grin. “Oi, don’t laugh! It was _fashionable_ , just - shut up! It was _in_ \- it was - you wouldn’t understand! Heh heh! You. Hehe. _You._ Stop it, stop _giggling_ , I’m trying to -”

“Tee hee hee!”

“It was for a temptation!” Crowley defended hotly, which only served to make the angel giggle harder. “You shouldn’t have been looking, anyway! What’s an angel doing ogling a demon’s rear end?”

“Dear boy, it was - was awfully hard - not to,” Aziraphale managed to wheeze out, “oh, the - the elderly couple! Do you remember the - tee hee hee!”

All right, so the leotard had been worse. Crowley didn’t want to talk about it. Suffice to say that it hadn’t been quite as opaque as he’d thought, and he might’ve accidentally given Aziraphale an eyeful or two.

Aaand also a train full of people. Including, but not limited to, a few priests, a Yorkshire terrier named Gerald, and the entire WI of Peterborough who were out on a lovely (or so they had hoped) trip to the Lake District.

Aziraphale had assured him that he had a lovely bottom, but perhaps this was neither the time nor the place, and had courteously offered him his coat.

It was _that -_ that bloody _lovely bottom_ comment _-_ more than anything else (Crowley didn’t give a toss about propriety) which had led to the demon burning the aforementioned clothing item and getting Aziraphale to swear he’d never mention it again to anyone.

‘Course, that didn’t stop the angel bringing it up when they were alone, he seemed to find the whole ordeal terribly amusing.

“ _Aziraphale!_ ” Crowley growled, through the fingers he’d slapped over his face in mortification.  
  


  
The angel graciously took pity on him.

“All right, oh, ohh. Oh, dear me. That was...” Aziraphale wiped away a few tears, and cleared his throat. He attempted to adjust his bow tie where it had gone crooked, face flushed with happiness, “so sorry dear boy, yes, do go on. You were saying?”

“No no, it’s fine. _Fine._ Carry on laughing at my expense, s’very _angelic_ of you. _”_

Aziraphale sat up a bit, not appearing apologetic in the least bit, and actually looking a bit pleased with himself. “I’m so very, terribly sorry, that was inexcusable on my part. Forgive me. Please, continue.”

Crowley crossed his arms and sulked. “I was gonna say, before you interrupted with your _cackling_ , that you can do whatever you want. Grow a bloody soup strainer if it makes you happy. But just know, I’ll be very, _very_ grumpy about it.”

“You? Grumpy? Heaven forbid.” Aziraphale flapped a manicured hand, eyes twinkling. “Anyway, I’ll have no control over the outcome. We’ll just have to see what this corporation is capable of producing, won’t we? It’ll be a surprise!”

Well, that was ominous.

“Oh my,” the angel mused, with a contemplative wrinkle of his nose, “ _anything_ could happen. I may only manage a trim moustache, which I would of course need to twirl the ends of with the help of a little pomade, or perhaps, I may end up with some more of those delightful sideburns that I was allowed to adopt in the nineteenth century... I don’t suppose you remember?”

Of course Crowley did.

“Oh, I do hope whatever grows doesn’t itch. I’ve heard tell that it can be a little uncomfortable.” He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, a little smirk appearing at the corner of his lips. “Goodness me, how _exciting_.”

The demon swallowed, imagining all sorts of things he shouldn’t have been imagining. “Yeah,” he said, hoping it came off as sarcastic, and not as earnest as he felt, “exciting.”

  
  
After that night in the bookshop, they’d both been caught up in one thing or another - Aziraphale had several rare book auctions to attend all over the globe, and Crowley had smoked a couple of eager demons out of his territory and spent a few weeks binging rubbish on Netflix. It had been a month or two since they’d seen each other.  
  
  


And yeah, all right, Crowley might have used some of that time apart to think about Aziraphale and his newfound desire for facial hair - but he’d thought about it a completely normal amount. It wasn’t fantasising. It was just a bit of natural curiosity.  
  
  


Anyway, once Aziraphale sent word that he was coming back from his little trip to Singapore, a few special editions in tow, Crowley had decided to wander over and just... have a look at the progress. You know, check in. Maybe take the stubbly angel out for dinner.

The bell tinkled above the bookshop door, as he pushed through it.

However, Crowley had been expecting soft downy fluff. Peach fuzz. A smattering of rebellious hairs on Aziraphale’s plump chin and maybe a few stragglers at the corners of his mouth. It had only been a few weeks, after all.

Nope. Should have remembered that Aziraphale never did things by half.

The angel turned at the sound of the bell, from where he had been sliding new books into place on the shelf, and as he did it became apparent that Crowley was absolutely and completely fucking done for.

Oh, no. Look at that.

It was wild indeed, an almost pearlescent white gold, tightly curled, absolutely gorgeous and thick as sheep wool.  
  
  


“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale said, with that smile that made him all squiggly inside, “dear boy, how wonderful to see you.”  
  
  


Crowley couldn’t muster up any words. He _stared_.

It didn’t escape the angel. Not much did, where Crowley was concerned.

“Aha! I can’t help but notice,” Aziraphale began, in the manner of one who said this sort of shit all the time to humans, and usually followed it up with a blessing or some other do goodery, “that you seem rather preoccupied with my new beard. Do you like it?”

Like it? Crowley was fucking enamoured with it. He wanted to sink his whole face into it. Jesus H Christ.

“New beard?” sniffed Crowley, “didn’t notice it.”

Aziraphale looked delighted. “Oh, you notorious fibber, you.”

“All right, it’s a bit bloody hard _not_ to see it, isn’t it? I can barely see you under it, takes up half your face.”

“It is quite thick, isn’t it? A little extra insulation for the winter months,” remarked the angel, and then he patted at his tummy a little bashfully, “not that I need it, I suppose.”

Fuck, he was beautiful. Even more beautiful. When had this happened? How was this possible? Crowley was going to die from the sheer sight alone, and oh, _bollocks_ , how was he supposed to keep himself in check when Aziraphale looked like _that_? The angel looked _cuddly,_ for someone’s sake. This was terrible. An absolute bloody disaster. Crowley should leave before he did something monumentally stupid, like tell the angel any of what he’d just been thinking.

“Well,” continued Aziraphale, eager for his opinion, “what do you think?”

Crowley shrugged, but for the life of him, he still couldn’t stop staring. “Eh. Pfff. S’all right.”

Aziraphale adopted a pleased little smirk, pink lips just visible through the mound of curls. The skin around his eyes crinkled. “You don’t think I overdid it do you?”

“Yes,” said Crowley, “abso-fucking- _lutely_.”

Aziraphale thumbed his chin thoughtfully, not that his chin was visible under the unruly amount of fluff. He ended up stroking the hair beneath his lip, twirling the white gold strands at the ends. “Well, I do have an appointment at the barbers to get it styled. They have a range of the most exquisite smelling beard oils there, which I must confess, I am positively itching to try out. I was thinking bergamot, or perhaps a little agarwood, if you wouldn’t object?”

Crowley nodded, unable to catch his breath. He was actually wheezing a bit. Beard oils, holy shit, it was gonna smell as good as it looked. That was the last thing he bloody needed. It probably smelled as good as it looked already, actually. What he wouldn’t do to find out.

Aziraphale clasped his hands together over the swell of his tummy. “Do you want to feel it?” he asked, as if he was reading Crowley’s mind and wanted to give the demon an aneurysm. “It’s very different to any other hair I’ve grown.”

“Do I. What.”

“I was most surprised by its texture. I thought perhaps it would be similar to the hair on my head, but no!” he emphasised the point with a waggle of his plump finger. “Curiously, it’s bouncier, curlier, a little dense - my dear, you really should have a touch, I’m afraid I’m quite terrible at describing it. Go on.”

Crowley did. Lord help him, he did. He couldn’t say no.

His hand disappeared into the coiling white clouds. Was this what dying felt like? Soft soft soft. There were trumpets in his ears. He was blind. His mouth tasted like he’d stuck his serpentine tongue in the toaster again - long story, not relevant. Back to the beard. The beard he was touching. He was touching Aziraphale’s beard.

Holy shit.

“Do you see what I mean?” asked Aziraphale, voice low. Lips inches away from Crowley’s fingers. There was no way he didn’t know what he was doing. “Rather coarse, isn’t it?”

“Mn,” managed Crowley, who wasn’t having very many thoughts beyond the aforementioned ‘holy shit’.

“A little curlier than the hair on my head, don’t you think?”

“Nyeh.”

Crowley’s fingers moved deeper in until it found the skin of Aziraphale’s chin where he rested his thumb, hooked his fingers over that soft jaw, and took a breath. Aziraphale turned his cheek into the palm slightly, until he was cradled there.

They fit like this.

“Do you really like it?” the angel asked again, gentler this time. There was something vulnerable there, the grey eyes flickering up to Crowley’s and then down and away over the bookshelves.

In his mind’s eye, Crowley could see Aziraphale pacing the floor, anxiously waiting for his arrival. He had probably double-checked himself in the small hand mirror he’d left on the desk, and then called himself vain and foolish and placed the mirror face down, firmly, where it now lay. Plonking some books next to it so that it was no longer in his direct line of sight.

Sometimes, Crowley got caught up in all the bickering and forgot that the angel wasn’t nearly as sure of himself as he appeared.

Aziraphale had always been resistant to change. Heaven’s fault, no doubt. Those bastards had taught him that it brought nothing but misery and shame. Individuality was to be stamped out before it could fester, before it could earn you a swift plummet through the clouds and into a pit of sulphur. Aziraphale had never mentioned what happened specifically when he dared put a toe out of line, but he was always worse for wear when coming back from an inspection.

Heaven poked and prodded and jabbed until Aziraphale retreated into his shell. And it took a long time to coax him back out again.

To anyone else this whole beard thing might seem like a small change, but to Crowley, who knew the angel better than he knew himself, it was _monumental_. It was _humongous_. It was, well, Crowley was proud of him, all right? Don’t make it soppy.

Aziraphale’s fingers were nervously tapping against each other as he sought - what? Acceptance? Forgiveness?

Pah, Crowley couldn’t give him anything but the truth. “Angel,” he said, heart beating frantically in his ears, “You look absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

“ _Oh_ ,” said Aziraphale in one warm breath, as if Crowley had just offered him the world in a dainty silver snuffbox.

“S’very you.” And it was. The angel looked happy like this, the tiniest bit unkempt, comfortable.

Aziraphale’s lip crumpled. “I’m so glad you think so. I think I might keep it.”

“You should. Handsome. You I mean, well, you and the beard, er, you without the beard is good too. But I like it,” Crowley finished with a wince.

Aziraphale let out a relieved hum, that vibrated Crowley’s fingers. “Crowley. Do you know,” he breathed, “I’ve heard tell that facial hair can increase certain physical stimulations.”

“... Eh?”

They were so close now, when had they got so close? Crowley didn’t know. Aziraphale was so near, Crowley could see every light in the room taking their chance to dance merrily in the angel’s eyes.

“You know,” said Aziraphale, meaningfully, “when... intimate.”

Well, fuck him sideways, that was hardly subtle.

Although, Crowley was the one currently cupping the angel’s face, holding it as carefully as delicate crystal. Who needed subtlety anyway? Psh. Not them. Not now. Not after all this time. They both knew - had always known really, hadn’t they?

Their noses brushed. “Yeah?” Crowley murmured.

“I wouldn’t presume to know of course.”

“Wanna find out?”

Aziraphale huffed out an amused breath, that tickled at Crowley’s lip. “Well,” he said, quite impatiently, “ _yes_ , obviously - oh _Crowley_ , if you don’t kiss me this very second I shall be thoroughly _miffed_.”

Crowley grinned widely, “All right, all right, I’m getting there.”

They kissed.

It was as perfect as Crowley had imagined it might be. Not that he’d ever admit to such a thing. A soft trusting press of lips, that opened to something more. Aziraphale tilted his head, and it got even better after that.

The angel’s mouth was deliciously warm, and surrounded by the softest, fluffiest fucking beard in the universe. It touched at Crowley’s upper lip, scraped gently across his skin. And it _tickled_. Of all the stupid, wonderful things.

_It smelled just like Aziraphale,_ he thought giddily as they broke apart. They were still close enough to touch at the nose, to feel each other’s wobbly, excited breaths.

Well, of course the beard smelled like Aziraphale, it _was_ Aziraphale. It probably tasted like Aziraphale too. You know, if Crowley felt inclined to give it a cheeky nibble.

... Holy shit, he knew what Aziraphale tasted like. 

_He’d just kissed Aziraphale.  
  
_

  
The angel looked completely enchanted by the whole thing. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes appeared midnight blue, and they flittered down to Crowley’s lips and back up to hold his gaze as though he couldn’t believe his luck. Those familiar eyebrows had pulled together with an adoring wrinkle in the middle.

Crowley was glad he couldn’t see his own face. Probably looked like a lovesick idiot too.

Because, damn it all, he was _so in love_ with this fluffy, ridiculous angel _._ It was enough to make anyone sick.

“Well,” squeaked Crowley.

“Well,” agreed Aziraphale, as he wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck. The demon’s hands slipped down to gingerly hold Aziraphale’s waist. Their bodies were now flush together, and Crowley could feelthe soft give of a tummy against his own.

“Oh _hell_ ,” he groaned, closing his eyes against the overwhelming sensation, and nuzzling the angel’s chin, “let me just suffocate myself in here. What a way to go.”

Aziraphale giggled and kissed him on the nose.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, you lovely person :)
> 
> If you fancy a chat, find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hotcrosspigeon)


End file.
